


Addiction Runs in the Family

by PansyDivision



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, POV Alternating, Protective Dean Winchester, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23877556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PansyDivision/pseuds/PansyDivision
Summary: Sam began using self harm as his sole coping mechanism. It gets out of hand, he slips up, and now Dean's figured it out. Where the hell does he go from here?There is slightly graphic self harm, please be careful. Takes place in the months before Sam's trip to the pit. The original female character is only mentioned.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	Addiction Runs in the Family

Dean stared into their bathroom trashcan with a blank expression. Something had caught his eye as he took his morning piss. Realization sunk in as he felt his heart fall into his stomach. Amongst bandaid wrappers and q-tips laid several bloody tissues; all with the same striped patterns that told the same story. The idea of his little brother hurting himself was a lot to think about on its own, but the amount of blood was even more worrisome. 

Part of him hoped he was wrong, but the more reasonable part hoped that he had caught it early. The only reason he even knew what he was looking at was because of a girlfriend he had in high school: Cassidy. She'd been completely unassuming when they first began dating. As Dean began staying over at her house and spending more time with her, it became clearer. When he first caught glimpses of her scars, he ignored then. What he saw had been healed and he did not want to pry. He decided to wait for her to tell him of her own volition. She never did. Instead, he had to confront her about it when he noticed her forgotten blades and blood in the shower. It took months, but she finally had the will to get clean again before she ultimately killed herself. Dean could never forget that.

Cutting doesn't necessarily equal suicidal ideation, but he wasn't about to take the chance. Sam had gone out to pick up coffee, but you could bet anyone's ass that Dean was not about to let this go. He tried to ease his building nausea by taking out the trash; get Sam's blood out of sight. It didn't help. Anxious thoughts were taking over. What the hell would he say? He'd gotten over blaming himself for Cassidy's death. Nevertheless, a nagging thought that if he handled this the same way he handled her self harm, it would end the same way. 

An agonizing fifteen minute wait ensued, mostly consisting of Dean staring into the carpet of the rented room. 

\-----

Sam winced as he climbed the steps to their room. The cuts on his thighs chafed against his jeans painfully. Out of Dean's sight, he knew he could show the pain on his face without worrying. Balancing the coffee between his body and arm, he opened the door to see his brother sitting solemnly on the bed. He tilted his head questioningly, but held out Dean's coffee for him regardless. 

"You okay, man?" Sam asked skeptically. 

Dean just took his coffee and immediately set it down on the bedside table. Okay, now Sam was actually worried. What the hell was going on? There's no way he knew about the self harm.

"Are you?" 

"Yeah," he replied, giving his best 'you're weird for asking that' look. "Why?"

A short silence followed, so Sam took the time to pull out the chair by the window and sit down. The styrofoam cup warmed his hands and he wondered to himself why humanity still uses this shit knowing its toxicity to the environment. 

"I know about the cutting," Dean finally let out. 

Sam choked on his coffee and spent a good minute coughing it out. He could feel eyes burning into him. This could not look more suspicious on his end. At the least it gave him time to think of an answer. Before he could gather his composure, Dean began speaking again.

"It's not healthy. You gotta talk to me, dude. Why would you-"

"Woah, woah, woah," he could play this off for sure if he just- "I don't know where you're getting this idea from, but I'm not _cutting myself_ , Dean. I know you think I'm crazy, but I don't think I'm there yet."

Dean stood suddenly, making Sam's heart skip. Did he slip up somehow? Leave a blade in the bathroom? Forgot to rinse blood out of the shower?

"Cut the shit, Samuel," he snarled. "I saw your bloody fuckin' tissues in the trash."

Oh, fuck. Out comes the full name. He really needs to start flushing all the evidence. Sometimes he gets a little distracted once he realizes the damage he's done.

"Okay? I accidentally knicked myself with my razor. You gonna skin me alive for that?"

Dean took a deep breath, rubbing his hand down his face in his signature exasperated move. Aw yeah, he was definitely selling this one well. No way Dean can prove he didn't.

"Fine," he said. 

The door slammed on his way out.

\-----

Even if his story wasn't utter bullshit, Dean could tell when Sam was lying. His shoulders got stiff and his eye contact was too strong. All an overcompensation to offset his anxieties about lying directly to his brother's face. He'd never admit it, but it hurt that Sam wouldn't just come clean. They've been through some shit recently, he knows the kid is hurting. Couldn't he trust him? 

It was a little childish of him to stomp out of the room and slam the door. He supposed it was better than getting pissed and yelling, because that's exactly how you turn Sam off. Both of them needed time to think about this. 

Baby's leather seats were warm from the sun light. He took a minute soak it in, turned the key in the ignition, and took off. The entire drive was spent with his thoughts flipping between Cassidy and Sam, making comparisons he wasn't even sure were really there. Cassidy had told him she'd used it as a form of control; the only constant in her life that she had a say over. That could very well be Sam's reasoning, and Dean knows he doesn't have a whole lot of comfort to offer in that area. 

Before he knew it, he'd made a loop through the local countryside. The exit towards their motel was right there. He had to face this eventually. Preferably sooner than later.

Reluctantly, he pulled into the lot. A surge of confidence blew through him as he ascended the stairs. Once he got Sam to start talking, they would be okay. Everything would be fine. 

\-----

When Sam heard the keys jingling in the door, he quickly locked the door to the bathroom and turned the shower on. He needed some sort of excuse for being in there. Hopefully Dean didn't get any fantastic ideas and bust in the door thinking he was going to find Sam slitting his wrists. He was close to it, but he just sat on the edge of the tub flipping around his razor blade. Over the last few months, he'd desensitized himself to the idea of self harm. It didn't seem like a problem to him, just something he did to cope. Other people drink or do drugs, he cuts. Dean's reaction had shot him back into reality. Yeah, people drink and do drugs, but those things also have life-altering consequences if they're used the wrong way. He's pissed that Dean ruined this for him. 

The blade left red gashes when he brought it down violently on his left lower forearm. A low sting buzzed up and down his arm. One after the other, they began leaving a steady trail of blood that dripped off his elbow and onto the tiles. Involuntary shaking, he grabbed the black towel he keeps just for this and wrapped it around his wrist. Breathing got easier, his tensed back relaxed, but his heart still pounded. 

A small _ding_ brought him out of his trance. Only Dean's text notifications made a sound. He huffed as he picked up his phone. Some sort of answer had to be sent to lessen suspicion. 

The text simply said, _We are going to have to talk about this_.

_There isn't anything to talk about_ , Sam sent back. Great, that didn't sound defensive at all. 

_Dude do you have your phone in the shower?_

_I might_

_Freak_

He couldn't help but crack a smile at the insult. Maybe he could at least tell Dean about this? Then he could understand why he was doing it, and Sam wouldn't have to hide it anymore. No way he was going to stop, so he'll just make that clear from the start. Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad. Otherwise, Dean was just going to be up his ass for weeks. He's bound to find out one way or another.

\-----

In a cloud of steam, Sam finally emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later. He hadn't even changed clothes. Dean rolled his eyes from his spot at the table. Research was usually Sam's gig. This time it was up to him, so he typed away at the laptop. He started off by googling _self harm_ , which led him down a rabbit hole to _reasons men self harm_ , _how to help a family member engaging in self harming behavior_ , and _the connection between mental illness and self harm_. He thought he was ready to talk before, he sure was fucking wrong. Maybe he isn't ready at all anymore. But there Sam stood, digging through the duffle bag and placing clothes on the bed. 

He cleared his throat, "Sam?" 

Sam hummed his response, obviously trying to remain nonchalant.

"Do you remember Cassidy?"

That made him stop in his tracks. "Your high school girlfriend?"

"Yeah," he said, trying not to choke on any of his words. It's not like he was about to cry, but that didn't mean his heart wasn't in his throat every time he talked about her. There were few people that Dean could say he honestly loved, and she was one of them. "She hurt herself too. Cuts, mostly. Up and down her thighs, on her stomach. I didn't know she was actively doing it until closer to the end of the relationship. Anyway, it became a security blanket, an addiction. She managed to get clean for a few months, but she had bigger problems than that."

Sam was standing awkwardly next to the bed, in awe that Dean had opened up like this. "Is that why you guys didn't last?"

"No. She killed herself," Dean said unwavering. He'd disconnected himself from the whole event. Never told anybody what had really happened. 

"Oh," Sam's eyes got wide as he managed to whisper a response. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago, don't worry about it. The point is that I am not going to standby and pretend like I don't know what you're doing to yourself."

"You're right."

"I am?" The surprise was all over his face. Less than an hour ago, Sam was vehemently denying it. He guessed the time to themselves really did help.

"Yeah, um," he swallowed his nerves and opted to sit at the edge of the edge of the bed. "It started a few months ago. I just figured 'why the hell not?' You know? It's just a part of me now."

"Why? How did that seem like a good idea?" Dean asked, trying and failing to keep his cool.

"It just," he struggled to find the words. "Helped. I didn't and still don't care about consequences. Who fucking cares if I have a few more scars on my body? Lucifer doesn't care, or else he would have already healed them. I'm going to end up as a vessel or dead sometime relatively soon, so as long as my body functions, I'm good."

"Good? Really, Sam?" Dean narrowed his eyes. The kid had gotten the idea that he was basically the equivalent to dead or dying. Not true at all. Dean would throw himself into the pit before he let Sam die. "You have got to see this not just about that. You've given up. That's not okay. You're going to get through this shit and come out the other side alive. I won't let you just die."

"First of all, that isn't up to you. I'm a grown man, and the universe is going to play out how it's supposed to whether you like it or not-"

"Bull. Shit. Since when do we just _let the universe play out_? Every time we decide not to interfere, stuff gets fucked. We are going figure it out or go down knowing we did everything in our power. Do you want to come out the other side with a self harm addiction and a body littered in scars?"

They were both standing now, having slowly gotten closer until they were inches away from each other's faces. Sam's face softened and his aggressive eye contact faltered. Dean wondered if that was the moment where it all sank in.

"I can't even imagine another possibility," he replied, it a defeated tone. 

"Beating Lucifer? Living?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I stopped seeing it as a possibility. Being alive after this? Having saved the world, but put scars all over myself? How do i live without it? How do I explain these? I don't want to imagine it. I would hate myself."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Dean assured him. "I'll help you stop. Scars heal, they get lighter. Please, Sammy."

\----

Eyes stinging, stomach turning; Sam hasn't felt this bad in a while. Everytime he experienced a vaguely negative emotion or even a strong positive one, he cut. It served as a distraction, and even a sense of control over his emotions. He'd never say that out loud. Dean would call him crazy. Cutting was something he did automatically, almost like a ritual. It was simple and as far as Sam was concerned, a little relief in his day. 

"Okay," he relented. 

How did he get to this point? Yesterday, he was blissfully ignorant and today his whole way of being blew up in his face. Dean was right. Now even the miniscule chance that they can beat Lucifer and remain on earth seemed slightly possible. And where would he be if that happened? 

"What do you need?"

A memory of 15 year old Dean talking to a feverish Sam struck him. Dean had been the only one around whenever it was physically possible. Maybe he's the constant that he needed all along.

"Be here," He knew he sounded like he was begging. Could he even ask this of his brother?

"I will."

\-----

Sure, they had talked about it, but Dean didn't fully realize what that meant yet. So when Sam walked out of the bathroom in just his towel the next morning, Dean almost spit out his drink. Cuts, gashes, and scars covered Sam's biceps, hips, and stomach. God only knew if they went further south to his legs.

"Holy fuck, Sammy," Dean breathed. Instant regret.

"I'm sorry. I forgot clothes and i figured it would be okay..." Sam turned away so that the majority of the damage was out of sight.

"No, shit, no-" he stuttered, "I wasn't ready for how many there would be."

He cringed at the way the words came out. Sam's demeanor didn't change. Hours ago, Dean was telling him that everything was fine and he'd be there for him. Now he's letting Sam feel _shame_ for not hiding it? Aw, hell no.

"I'm sorry. Can I see?" Dean asked. Hoping that didn't come off as creepy, he stood and walked towards Sam. Reaching out to grab his arm, he wasn't met with any resistance. He went ahead and inspected them. Some were as new as a couple days. There were four distinct cuts on his left wrist that stood out. They had definitively been done within the last twenty four hours. If nothing else, those needed stitches. If Sam was worried about scarring now, he should definitely let Dean stitch him up. Lessen scarring, hasten healing time.

"Wait here."

Dean wasted no time grabbing their homemade first aid kit and pulling out its needle and sutures. 

"You don't have to do that," Sam said, making a dismissive gesture.

"I do. Trust me."

So with Dean kneeling and Sam sitting on the bed, he set out stitching. Any previous awkwardness dissipated. He was unsure if Sam felt the same way, but he could finally relax. The most miniscule amount of hope had infiltrated his brother's mindset and that was all he needed. They'd get better.

\-----

Guilt. For disappointing Dean, for taking up his time, for letting this go too far. Wincing every time the needle dipped into his skin, he knew he deserved the pain. Karma for doing this to himself in the first place. He laid his head in his free hand, nails digging into his forehead.

That was how he dealt with any sort of feeling now. Replaced it with pain. It was nearly insignificant but he cursed under his breath when he realized what he was doing. Unfortunately, Dean noticed.

"You okay?" 

"Um, No," he chuckled nervously, but regained composure quickly. "Just... don't expect me to be able to stop right away."

"I don't. Addiction runs in this family. I can learn to be patient."

The amount of cool Dean was keeping through the whole ordeal was the main reason Sam was cooperating. Fuck ups could be managed. Dean's had some experience with this problem. Not that he'd say it, but Sam could use the guidance. Older brother to the rescue once again. He supposed that was what brothers were for. They'd be even bigger messes without each other. 

Soon, Dean had wrapped the arm in gauze and began packing away his items. Sam had never properly taken care of his self inflicted wounds. The bandage was snug, reassuring like a hug. This was going to suck for the next few months, years even. He wouldn't be called a Winchester if he didn't try.


End file.
